


Unfogging The Future

by FantasticNumberNine



Series: John Watson and the Prisoner of Azkaban [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Care of Magical Creatures, Crossover, Divination, First Day of School, Gen, Hagrids Teaching, Hippogriffs!, Moriarty Is A Dick, Off to a rough start, Potterlock, Reading Tea Leaves, im amused, that's a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticNumberNine/pseuds/FantasticNumberNine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first day of class, and it starts off ominously with predictions of death and even a splash of blood. John, Greg, and Mycroft are off to a tense start to their third year at Hogwarts, and John is pretty sure  the rest of the year can only get worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfogging The Future

**Author's Note:**

> *disclaimer*
> 
> Gods I'm tired. But this is fun. Onwards.

Moriarty had taken to imitating John fainting for dementors every chance he got, and it hadn't even been a full day since they'd been back yet. Only Mycroft taking his spoon away prevented John from launching porridge across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, where John was imagining the look on Moriarty's face while the sludge dripped down his immaculately slicked black hair.

"We're starting new subjects today, look!" 

Mycroft's excitement for classes to start was not mirrored on Greg's appalled face as he snuck a look at Mycroft's schedule.

"Myc, they've messed up your schedule," Greg grabbed Mycroft's left arm and pulled the schedule in his hand closer. "You're down for about ten subjects a day--there isn't enough _time_."

Mycroft blinked at Greg's hands, still holding his arm. "I'll manage. I've arranged everything with Professor McGonagall."

"But look!" Greg shoved Mycroft's hand into his face. "Look at this morning! You've got Divination, Muggle Studies, _and_ Ancient Runes, _all_ at nine o'clock! You're good Myc, I know you're good, but no one is _that_ good. How're you supposed to be in three classes at once?"

Mycroft freed his arm and frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I won't be in three classes at once."

"Then how--"

"Pass the marmalade."

"But--"

"Oh, what's it to you if my schedules a bit full? I've said I have it all arranged with Professor McGonagall, so, kindly, _let it go_." 

"Fine."

"Fine."

On the other side of Mycroft, John had his face in both his hands. 

They were lucky to reach Divination on time--relying on Sir Cadogan for directions was now the oddest experience John thought he'd had so far in the wizarding world. 

Inside the stuffy and bizarrely perfumed classroom, John sat himself between Greg and Mycroft. 

"Welcome to Divination, my name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye." Silence met her pronouncement and she continued. "Divination is the most difficult of all magical arts, as those of you who do not have the Sight will learn quickly. One can only learn so much from books in this field..."

John and Greg spared Mycroft wide grins at those words, and Mycroft scoffed quietly and rolled his eyes. 

"You, girl," Professor Trelawney turned suddenly towards Molly, who slipped right off her pouf. "Is your grandmother well?"

"I--I think so," Molly squeaked.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, dear," Professor Trelawney turned away and continued placidly. "The first term will be devoted to reading the tea leaves, and from there we will move on to palmistry. By the way, my dear," she stopped abruptly beside Parvati Patil, "Beware a silver-haired man."

Parvati turned to stare, startled, at Greg before moving her chair away from him. John and Mycroft sniggered.

"In the second term we shall progress to the crystal ball. Of course, unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of the flu, and around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever."

With that ominous announcement, Professor Trelawney divided them into pairs to start their readings. John and Greg drank their scalding cups of tea as quickly as they could, then traded cups.

"Right, what've I got to look forward to, then?" Greg asked cheerfully.

"A load of soggy brown stuff," said John. The heavily perfumed smoke in the room was making him feel sleepy and stupid. "Er, though, there's a crooked cross? That means, ah, 'trials and suffering'--sorry about that... But that's, maybe a sun? Which is 'great happiness.' So you're gonna suffer, but you'll be very happy--so you _are_ planning on asking Mycroft on a date!"

"You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me," said Greg, a bit red in the face, and John had to stifle his laugh when Professor Trelawney gazed in his direction.

"My turn," Greg looked into John's teacup, his brow furrowed in concentration. "That blob there looks a bit like a bowler hat, maybe you'll be the youngest Minister of Magic--or it could be an acorn, if I turn it this way. 'A windfall, unexpected gold.' You can lend me some, excellent--"

"For your date with Mycroft?"

Greg ignored him, turning the cup again, and John couldn't tell if he was blushing, or if Greg was just as overheated in the stuffy classroom as he was.

"That looks a bit like an animal, yeah, a hippo? Or, no, maybe a sheep..."

John snorted and Professor Trelawney whirled around.

"Let me see that, my dear," she said, snatching John's teacup from Greg's hands. The class went quiet to watch.

Professor Trelawney stared into the teacup, and rotated it counterclockwise.

"The falcon, my dear, you have a deadly enemy."

"Yes, everyone knows _that_ ," Mycroft drawled from the next table. Professor Trelawney stared at him, and he sighed loudly. "Everybody knows about John and You-Know-Who."

John and Greg stared at him in mixed amazement and admiration--Mycroft had never spoken to teacher like that before. Professor Trelawney chose not to reply and turned John's cup again.

"The club, an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup," another turn. "The skull, danger in your path," another turn.

Professor Trelawney gasped before she screamed. Molly broke her second cup and the Professor sank into a vacant armchair, a ring covered hand over her heart and her eyes closed.

"What is it, Professor?" Dean Thomas asked as everyone got up to crowd John and Greg's table, trying to see into his cup.

"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically. "You have the Grim."

John stared, "I have the what?"

He could tell he wasn't the only one who didn't understand, but most of the class had varying expressions of horror on their faces.

"My dear boy, it is an omen--the worst omen--of _death_!"

John's stomach lurched--the dog in the shadows of Magnolia Crescent... Everyone was looking at John, everyone except Mycroft, who had gotten up to stand behind Trelawney's chair.

" _I_ don't think it looks like a Grim," he said a bit flatly.

Professor Trelawney fixed a stare at Mycroft that quickly turned into a glare.

"You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little receptivity to the resonances of the future from you."

Mycroft rolled his eyes--again, and John thought he'd be doing a lot of that in this class.

"It looks like a Grim if you do this," Seamus Finnigan was squinting at John's cup. "But it looks more like a donkey from here," he said as he leaned to the left.

"When you've all finished deciding whether I'm going to die or not!" John said loudly, taking even himself by surprise. No one wanted to look at him now.

John, Greg, and Mycroft headed to Transfiguration in silence. It was obvious to John that as much as Mycroft had no faith in Trelawney's predictions, Greg seemed overly concerned and terrified. No one seemed to be paying attention to McGonagall's lesson on Animagi, and John wasn't even watching when she transformed into a spectacle-marked tabby.

"Really, what has got into you all today?" Professor McGonagall changed herself back with a faint _pop_ and stared at her class. "Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's not got applause from a class."

Everyone turned to stare at John again and Mycroft raised his hand.

"We've just had our first Divination class. We've been _reading_ tea leaves."

"Ah, of course. That explains it Mister Holmes. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?"

"John."

"I see," McGonagall fixed John with her beady eyes. "You should know, Watson, that Sibyll Trelawney has been predicting the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet--you look in excellent health to me, Watson, so you'll excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in."

Mycroft laughed, and John felt a bit better. Or he would have, if Greg hadn't brought it up again at lunch.

"John, you _haven't_ seen a great black dog anywhere, have you?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. I saw it the night I left the Dursely's."

John watched dispassionately as Greg and Mycroft descended into another argument, wondering absently around a mouthful of stew if the whole year would be like this. 

"You just don't like being bad at something for a change!"

John cringed internally.

"If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves, then I'm sure I won't be studying much longer! That lesson was rubbish compared with my Ancient Runes class!"

Red in the face, Mycroft stuffed a book into his bag and stormed off.

Greg blinked after him.

"What's he on about? He hasn't been to an Ancient Runes class yet."

Greg and Mycroft weren't on speaking terms for Care of Magical Creatures that afternoon, which meant John was playing buffer once more as they followed Hagrid along the edge of the Forbidden Forest to a large, empty, paddock. Moriarty was muttering with Crabbe and Goyle, which didn't bode well, but John was determined to ignore them.

"Now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books--"

"How?" Interrupted Jim Moriarty's drawling voice.

"What's that?"

"How do we open our books?" Moriarty repeated, pulling out a rope-bound copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ from his bag.

"Hasn'--hasn' anyone been able ter open their books?" 

The class shook their heads. 

"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em!" Said Hagrid, as though nothing was more obvious. "Look--"

And he took Mycroft's copy, ripped of the Spellotape, and ran a giant forefinger down the book's spine before it could bite him. The book shivered, then fell open to lay quietly in his hand.

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Moriarty exclaimed. "We should have _stroked_ them! Why didn't we guess?"

"I--I thought they were funny," Hagrid said uncertainly.

"Tremendously funny! Very witty, giving us books that try to rip our hands off!"

"Shut up, Moriarty," John said quietly. He didn't want Moriarty ruining Hagrid's first lesson.

Then Hagrid brought out a dozen of the most bizarre creatures John had ever seen. Half horse, half eagle, each beast looked quite deadly and it was only slightly reassuring to see them wearing thick leather collars attached to chains held by Hagrid. 

"Hippogriffs! Beau'iful, aren' they?"

And, John could sort of understand what he meant. After the initial shock, they were impressive. Even beautiful. In a dangerous sense.

"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud. Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."

Moriarty didn't seem to be listening, he was talking in an undertone to Crabbe and Goyle, and John had a bad feeling he was plotting how to cause the biggest disruptions possible. Moriarty looked over at John, he'd likely sensed him staring, and beamed before doing his best impression of listening to Hagrid.

"Who wants ter go first?"

Most of the class backed away, but Moriarty looked like he was about to push forward.

"I'll do it," said John quickly.

"Good man, John! Let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak." 

To John's enormous surprise, it went well. Even when Hagrid insisted he climb on Buckbeak's back and go for an extraordinarily uncomfortable ride, so different from his Nimbus, around the paddock and back to the ground with a thud that nearly had him tumbling gracelessly from the hippogriff's back.

John watched as the rest of the class cautiously approached the hippogriffs, a little peeved when he saw Moriarty calmly patting Buckbeak's beak with a large grin.

"This is so _easy_!" Moriarty drawled loudly. "Of course it must be, if Watson could do it. I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" He cooed. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"

Moriarty let out a high pitched scream, and then Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar so he wouldn't get to Moriarty, curled in the grass and bleeding all over his robes.

"I'm dying!" Moriarty screeched. "I'm dying, look! It's killed me!"

As Hagrid passed by John with Moriarty in his arms, he saw the long, deep, gash on Moriarty's arm. Blood splattered the grass as Hagrid ran with him up to the castle.

**Author's Note:**

> Next: Boggarts and Lupin!


End file.
